


The Surreal Nature of Grief

by Chocolatequeen



Series: Doomsday ficlets and drabbles: angsty [6]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Bad Wolf Bay, Depression, Doomsday Month, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s02e13 Doomsday, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 08:32:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7567312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocolatequeen/pseuds/Chocolatequeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the months following her separation from the Doctor, Rose struggles to accept her new reality.</p><p>Based on <a href="http://chocolatequeennk.tumblr.com/post/147854347952/roses-memories-of-the-battle-of-canary-wharf-were">this gifset</a> and specifically referencing the way MK coloured them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Surreal Nature of Grief

Rose’s memories of the Battle of Canary Wharf were hazy, with muted colours and images distorted by the cloud of grief. The stark white of the wall in the ghost chamber was greyish pink in her recollection, and though she knew it had been hard and unrelenting when she’d pressed against it, she still pictured it looking and feeling almost like a pillow.

What colour was the jumper she’d worn that day? They told her it was blue, and she remembered thinking it was blue when she put it on that morning–before it all went to hell, before Torchwood and the ghosts. But in her memory, it barely had any colour at all. She’d thrown it out as soon as Pete got them back to his house, so she couldn’t feel the nubby texture of the knit anymore, but as she thought about the day, she couldn’t remember how it felt against her skin at all.

The light in the ghost chamber when they’d opened the breach had been nearly blinding, but in her mind, it was all in shadows. She could vaguely recall the sensation of wind blowing across her cheeks as the Cybermen and Daleks were all pulled in, could even hear the whistling of the wind, but the memories were distorted, as if she were recalling them through a hazy glass.

She didn’t tell anyone about her colourless memories, didn’t tell them that the world still seemed faded and distant. She knew they’d be worried, well, more worried than they already were, and she couldn’t stand the thought of answering more questions about how she felt since losing the Doctor. 

_How do you think I feel?_  she wanted to scream. _I don’t belong here. I belong with him. This isn’t **real.**_

When the Doctor’s voice came crystal clear through the haze of her dreams, Rose knew it was real. She knew he was calling to her, knew he was going to take her home. She noticed with some surprise as she dressed that the jumper she’d always thought was a dull burgundy was actually a brilliant, deep pink. 

Colours continued to come to her on the drive to Norway, colours and sounds and scents more real and crisp than they’d been in four months. She could feel the sharp sting of the wind on the beach, could hear the waves pound against the rocks in the distance and smell the salt tang in the air. It was all real again–she was real again.

The first crack in her hope came when the Doctor appeared, looking like a ghost. Even though he did something with the sonic to solidify his projection, seeing him looking exactly like he had in her memories–faded and not really there–sent a spike of dread through Rose. 

Then he said the words: “I’m burning up a sun just to say goodbye.” As much as Rose wanted to hold onto the memory of this last moment with her Doctor, she could feel it slipping through her fingers. This couldn’t be real. If she really remembered it, then she would know it was real. 

She stayed present enough to talk to him, and even managed to get out the three words she’d held back for months before they’d been separated. But when the Doctor disappeared before he could return the words and she collapsed onto the beach, she couldn’t feel the coarseness of the sand. 

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

 


End file.
